Eight Dates with Mac
by hap.e.daze
Summary: Eight dates, eight points-of-view. Various pairings. A look at Mac through eight short chapters. Now COMPLETE!
1. Jane

A/N: Writer's block has stolen my muse temporarily from my Mac/Claire story. I'm trying to coax her back, but for now, I'm exploring some other ideas. This story is a view of Mac through the eyes of eight different women in a short chapter for each. It's been fun to play with different perspectives and show Mac as we've seen him over the years. First chapter takes place Season One. Hope you enjoy! None of the characters belong to me...

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**Eight Dates with Mac**

_**Jane **_

For years, Jane had admired the head of the Crime Lab from afar. She was single and he was about her age and so it was natural that, occasionally, her mind would wander and she would consider whether Mac might, perhaps, be dating material. He didn't exactly rebuff her rare and amateur attempts at flirting, yet he never reciprocated either. She thought he might find her attractive. A soft smile and a tiny sparkle in his gray eyes gave him away. But just like that, the smile ran away, and his eyes clouded over. Suffocating grief still won the silent battle. But no one else entered her life, and Jane was patient, so she would wait a few weeks, maybe months, and if the opportunity presented itself, she would try again.

It was the night he asked her to stay late, that she noticed the watch. Mac wasn't a fashion connoisseur so she noticed things that stood out. His clothes were neat and traditional, yet never outdated. He wore dress slacks in department store brands, always in neutral gray, black, or navy. He usually wore a sport coat, but on court days, he wore a suit. Once when he took off the jacket, she caught the label: Hugo Boss. Probably from Bloomingdales, she guessed.

He had insisted on buying her dinner, the least he could do, he had said, for imposing on her. She had been holed up in a windowless lab all day. He would only be gone a few minutes to get food. _I'll bring it back. We can eat here._ Jane shook her head. They needed at least forty-five minutes more before the computer would tell them anything. She would walk with him.

She had low expectations for Chinese food at eleven o'clock on a Wednesday night, but she was still surprised by Mac's absolute _audacity _at bringing her here. "Panda Express," she deadpanned.

"Best Chinese in Manhattan," Mac said seriously, holding the door for her. He arched his eyebrows, challenging her. Jane recognized the sparkle in his eye.

"You need to get out more," she teased. He offered her a half-smile, but didn't argue. Jane rolled her eyes and Mac's smile lingered. She looked over the counter at the slim pickings and complained, "They're out of chow mein."

"We can wait." They ordered and then Mac stuffed his hands in his pockets, and leaned against the counter, crossing his feet at the ankles. Jane watched his expression. For the first time that night, his brow was relaxed and his lips curved up. He was happy, Jane realized, and she smiled too. Their eyes met and Mac nodded. He was saying what? Jane wasn't sure but she didn't lower her gaze. Just when the stare was too much, he looked away and announced, "It's hot in here." _Indeed. _

Mac peeled off his jacket and hung it on a hook. He rolled his sleeves over his forearms and it was then that he displayed a remarkably sporty-looking luxury watch. It was a silver Movado with a large face. Jane wasn't even sure what the three subdials were for, but it was a beautiful watch, and it looked perfect on his arm. Without thinking, she reached out. He froze and Jane quickly removed her hand. "Your watch," she explained. He smiled as he learned the motivation for her touch.

"You like it?" he asked, holding his arm out and examining it himself. She nodded. He shrugged. "I just got it," he explained. She thought she detected a hint of pride in the accessory.

"It's nice," she said. And then, with his smile and soft expression encouraging her, Jane let her mind go _there_. Mac Taylor shopping. Mac Taylor picking out a watch. Mac Taylor standing at the jewelry counter while he looked at the selections. Mac Taylor trying on watches, allowing himself the luxury - no, the absolute _vanity – _of choosing a watch that easily cost a month's salary just because it looked good on his arm.

It made him all the more mysterious, interesting, and compelling. He was no longer the brooding boss whom she crushed on from afar, ever aware of his deep grief for his wife. He was suddenly a very attractive peer who was considerate enough to buy her dinner on a late night at the office and who liked to go shopping just to treat himself.

"Stella picked it out," he said sheepishly. "It wasn't her money," he quipped, "so, predictably, she picked the most expensive one. She has _very _particular tastes. I would have been fine with something from Duane Reed." Jane laughed, hiding her slight disappointment at the story that chased her fantasy away.

"It's a nice watch," she repeated. Mac nodded, folding his arms and hiding the watch. He stood quietly, his attention held by the television broadcasting a Chinese soccer match. Jane sat as they waited, her attention held by the muscular curve of his shoulders, the hair that was slightly mussed after a full day, his strong forearm, his narrow wrist, the perfect backdrop to a luxury watch.

Without warning, he stepped forward and Jane turned away quickly, masking her obvious stare. "Food," he said in explanation for his sudden move. Their order was packed neatly in a clear plastic sack, and Mac reached for napkins, plastic forks, and two sets of chopsticks. He stuffed it all into the bag and then looked her way. "Ready?" he asked, gesturing with his head. Jane nodded, unable to hide her disappointment that they wouldn't linger and enjoy the meal. She stepped forward and opened her mouth, about to ask him to sit.

He stepped back, aware of her move. He looked down, bit his lip and then glanced at her. His forehead was knitted in concentration, the smile was long gone, and his eyes were cloudy. Gold glimmered from his left ring finger, and Jane was suddenly embarrassed. He looked at his watch, and spoke softly, "We should get back. The results will be ready." With a disappointed nod, Jane followed her boss.


	2. Rose

**A/N: **Remember Rose? The woman he had drinks with at the end of Season One ... This takes place between Season One and Two. It's not exactly M, but it's a strong T-rating!

* * *

**Eight Dates with Mac**

_**Rose **_

As his hands skimmed over her back and found a slice of skin above the waistband of her skirt, Rose took in a deep breath. As expected, his hands were warm and comforting, but when his thumbs brushed against her, she tingled with anticipation. Slowly, she moved her hands to his tie and began to loosen the knot. Her hands shook, betraying the intense nerves behind her cool exterior.

His eyes were curious, yet detached, as if he were watching someone else loosen the tie on another man. She hadn't known him long, but she had seen that expression before. When she touched his arm. When he approached her at the bar. The first time he kissed her. She smiled nervously, and he returned it, much to her relief. She pulled the tie out and looked around the bedroom, wondering where to drop it. Mac liked things neat, she supposed, and she wasn't quite willing to drop it on the floor, nor was she the type to toss it across the room in the throes of passion. He spared her the decision, removing one hand from her back to take it from her hands.

"Thank you," he said, leaning over to set it on his dresser.

"Where'd you get it?" An awkward question designed to fill awkward space.

"It was a gift," Mac explained. "My friend Stella." His voice was smooth, but loud in the small room, and it sounded out-of-place. She imagined her voice sounded the same. She took an inadvertent step back, and he mistook it for nerves. He removed his other hand from the small of her back, and she was left face-to-face with no physical contact. She bit her lip, knowing this was the moment to turn away.

Eight weeks ago, she would have said it would be impossible that she would be there, to tell the truth. The first date had been awkward and phony, and the bar she had selected had been far too trendy and noisy for his tastes. She didn't expect to see him again, but was pleasantly surprised when he had called. The second date was better. Dinner at the quiet restaurant had begun slow. She was neither chatty nor outgoing, and when paired with a deliberate and methodical thinker, they spent considerable time not speaking. The third time they met, he told her he was a widower. She wasn't surprised, the emptiness in his eyes and the way he played with his ring finger as if a band still circled it needed no explanation. During their fourth date, it was Mac's turn to listen. Rose was adrift in a sea of emptiness, divorce having robbed her of her security and her self-worth. Seeing Mac was little more than an experiment, her way of proving to herself that she was still worthy of company. Still, as summer marched forward, their relationship was comfortable, and Mac was a safe choice for her as she regained her footing in life.

By July, she had known they would sleep together eventually, if only to prove that they could. It would be satisfying and good, but it wouldn't keep them together, Rose knew that. Still, she expected that she would remember Mac as a sympathetic and kind man who needed her as much as she needed him. The summer had been magical and glorious, allowing them both to pretend that they were fine, that they had moved on, that they were ready. But they weren't, and Mac knew that as much as Rose did. So as the August moon began to rise in the sky, Rose regretted their timing. Five years from now, things would have been different. This moment, in his sterile bedroom after two glasses of wine, would have been a beginning, not an ending.

But they were here, and it was happening and that was fine too. So she stepped forward, eliminating the zone of safety. She brought her hands to his shirt and boldly, she began to unbutton it. His hands returned to her back and then slipped lower and she felt one tug her close to him as he lightly ran it over the peach silk of her skirt. Physical desire took over then and she breathed deeply. He pressed his lips against her temple, and he inhaled. She smoothed his undershirt, and she felt the strength in his chest as she moved her hands up to his shoulders, and she pulled his dress shirt off his arms.

One of his hands moved beneath her sweater and across her abdomen. She felt a thumb touch her there and stop. She still hadn't kissed him on the lips. She looked up and his eyes, while staring intently at her, were distant. She whispered, "Are you with me?"

He looked at her, surprised and then bashful. And then he took a deep breath, pulling himself back to the moment. He leaned over and captured her lips with his. His tongue meshed with hers, and she was positively out of breath when he finally pulled away. His fingers began to run up her rib cage under her sweater.

"I'm convinced," she replied, lifting her arms up and begging him to take her sweater off. He did, easily, and she stood before him in her bra. He played with the lace on the edges. He stopped suddenly, and she wondered what was wrong. "Mac?"

He whispered then, "I'm sorry this is ..." She looked up, furrowing her brow at his statement. He blushed and quickly ran a hand over his face, truly embarrassed at his hesitation. Rose released a breath, wondering how she had read this moment so wrong. He was _apologizing _to her while she was half naked. Could it be worse? "It's not you," he assured. Finally, he exhaled and muttered, "Christ." Then he looked at a spot against the wall.

"Hey," she whispered, taking over and touching his face. "This feels ... different for me too." He nodded, his gaze returning to her eyes. He was hesitant, though, and Rose wondered if it would happen. He blinked a few times and then smiled.

He leaned in and kissed her neck. She felt his breath as he asked, "You okay?" He was back, and so Rose smiled even though he couldn't see her face. She nodded, knowing he could feel her movement. She ran her hands up his strong biceps before she placed her hands on his face and moved it back so she could look at him. She kissed his jaw. Confident eyes looked back at her. "Stay with me, and we'll be fine," he assured her.

She ran her fingers over his stomach just above his waistband. As she touched his belt buckle, she felt him shudder. Then she whispered, "I'm with you."


	3. Peyton

**A/N: **Mid Season 3, More information at the end. Thanks a million for all your reviews! I will be responding to them soon. I love that you are enjoying this. Just a fun diversion until my muse returns. She is on an extended vacation!

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**Eight Dates with Mac**

_**Peyton**_

From her view in the kitchen, Peyton could only see Mac's foot as it rhythmically bounced against her coffee table. His gray sock contrasted against the cuff of his black trousers, a reminder that he had come straight from work. For him, work hadn't ended until far too late in the night, so Peyton had been surprised to find him knocking at her door. They were exclusive, she knew that, but they were also new. So it played with her confidence, the way Mac held so much close to his chest. Then, without warning, he does something like show up at her door at eleven at night. And why? A shrug of the shoulder. A small smile. _I don't know. Just wanted to say hi._

As she uncorked the bottle of wine, she chewed her bottom lip. It was sweet that he wanted to say hi, but she guessed it was more than that. They had their routines, and they followed them. Most importantly, Mac _never _just stopped by. They made plans and stuck to them, but they also kept a bit of distance between them - at Mac's lead, of course. During the work week, they would spend one, _maybe _two nights together (if it was slow at work). He couldn't do his job properly if he was tired or drank too much wine or overslept in the morning. When she wasn't offended by it, Peyton was amused that he somehow thought that would happen with her. As if she were the party animal that his late wife allegedly was. During the weekend, Mac was a little more relaxed. They could spend Friday _and_ Saturday nights together, and he wouldn't be rushed in the morning. It was always in the mornings that Peyton wondered if she actually might fall in love with the man.

Still, at work, he was the Chief Investigator of the NY Crime Lab, and she was the Chief Pathologist at the Office of the Medical Examiner. No one knew the rest of the story, and she wouldn't deny that it bothered her. Why wouldn't he acknowledge their relationship publicly? Why didn't he want anyone to know? In particular, why didn't he want Stella to know?

Peyton frowned. Last time she had raised it, they had even raised their voices. First, it was the gossip mill. He didn't like people talking about him. Then it was office politics. He wasn't sure it looked right to his subordinates. Then it was something about not needing distractions and the list went on and on. When Peyton had countered each argument with her own, very logical responses, Mac had closed down the conversation. He would not be pressured and that, really, was that. So she had dropped it, but during her last sleepless night, she had resolved that she would bring it up again, the very next time she saw him. And that, really, was now.

"You need any help?" he called from the living room. Peyton shook her head. Of course, he couldn't see her but Peyton was too busy thinking about how to raise the topic once again. It would be nice if it was on his mind. But maybe that was it. Maybe that was why he was here. Of course, that was it. Why else would he stop by so late?

Satisfied, Peyton filled the glasses. She jumped when his voice was right behind her. "Peyton?"

"Oh Mac, I'm sorry. I didn't hear you."

"I asked if you needed help."

"No, no. It's just a bit of wine. Here," she said, handing him the glass. He leaned against the counter and sipped. He closed his eyes and Peyton noticed the deep lines crossing his face. He looked exhausted, and she tilted her head. Thoughts of secret office relationships, the gossip mill, true love and the rest ran away from her thoughts and were replaced with concern. Something had happened, and _that's _why he was here. It had nothing to do with her, and she was embarrassed by her selfishness. He was here for another reason.

She reached out and touched his arm. "Are you okay?"

He snapped his eyes open. "Me?" he asked. She smiled. _Who else? _He chuckled softly and set his wine glass on the counter. He exhaled and lifted his hands in defeat. "I supposed you heard about the run-in with Flack?"

"I heard you had words with him." He barely nodded. "What happened?"

"He handed over his memo book," Mac said evenly. "He wasn't happy about it, but he did it."

"He did the right thing."

Mac shrugged ambiguously. "I guess. I can see his side too." She nodded, encouraging him to continue. "Actually …" He cleared his throat and ran his fingertips across his forehead. "Something … unexpected … happened tonight." Mac looked down and shifted his feet. "Um, years ago, Claire had a child. Before she knew me." Peyton took in a slight breath. Mac looked up and met her gaze. "I met him tonight."

Peyton froze. That was _not _what she expected. After a moment, she released the breath. She closed her mouth and blinked a few times. Mac hurried to explain. "He was looking for Claire. He got an address and he's been following … He thought Stella was Claire, so he's been following her and, god Peyton. It's just … It's unreal how much he looks like her."

Peyton lifted the glass to her lips and tried to steady her hand. "You mean Claire," she said softly. Mac nodded as Peyton sipped.

Mac ran both hands over his eyes and he pressed at the bridge of his nose. With his eyes closed, he said, "I thought…" Peyton stood still, unable to step closer. "I thought I was moving on…" He rest his hands on the counter behind him and focused on a spot over her head. "… But he looks just like her." Peyton waited, her stomach clenching inside. She felt nauseous and shaky.

Mac repeated it slowly, his eyes sad and hollow. "He looks just like her."

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A/N: Post-_Consequences_ (3x08). This is the episode Mac goes up against Flack and meets Reed for the first time. One of my favorite episodes.


	4. Quinn

**A/N**: Set towards the end of Season 4.

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**Eight Dates with Mac**

_**Quinn**_

Being head of a crime lab had a way of aging you. Quinn should know. The New Jersey Lab that she led was no peach of a workplace. Unlike Mac's modern, well-appointed digs, she was running a world-class laboratory from a wood-paneled office in the back of a cement warehouse. Still, she practically dared anyone to question her success. In fact, she might even go toe-to-toe with Mac on closure rates.

Although she was only peripherally involved, the cabbie killer case had stolen all of her energy. She couldn't imagine what Mac was feeling – sleepless nights, dead ends, false leads. And then, a loved one caught in the crosshairs. Still, she was looking forward to catching up, to reminiscing about old times, to laughing a little. She needed that after a hard case.

She looked towards the entrance of the hotel bar, searching for Mac. She frowned when she saw him. She was bone-tired but Mac looked drained. His face was pale, his eyes were sunken, his shoulders were slumped. He met her gaze but his expression was blank. Smiling took energy.

Quinn stood up as Mac approached. "Do you still drink scotch?" she asked.

He shook his head and sat on a stool, his arm resting comfortably on the bar. "Not tonight. I'm heading back to Reed's place."

"How's he doing?" Quinn asked.

Mac nodded. "Good," he said simply. "He's doing good." Mac waved off the bartender with a shake of his head and Quinn sipped at her wine. They each sat, lost in their thoughts, and Quinn wondered who would break the silence. Mac spoke first. "Thank you." She tilted her head. "Thank you for your help on this one. We needed all the hands we could get and you added a lot to this investigation."

Quinn didn't respond. Mac's words were formal and stilted, and they made her sad. You could use whatever cliché you wanted, but at one point in time, she and Mac were two peas in a pod, birds of a feather, thick as thieves. In fact, she remembered standing beside him in the old lab – the one that Mac managed to have torn down – and laughing with him about overused clichés. She smiled to herself. "What?" His voice tore into her thoughts.

Quinn's smile faded, and she shook her head. "It's nothing." Mac didn't push. Instead, he looked at his hands and tapped on the bar. Quinn narrowed her eyes. God, he could be so … freaking … _obtuse _when he wanted to be. He was supposed to follow up, damn it. It wasn't _nothing_. It was _everything_. And despite her best intentions, her brain was going _there _again.

She knew she had made a mistake years ago when she had kissed him. Mac made it clear then, and he made it clear now, that he had been married, and her overture was most unwelcome. Things were different now, though. She was (still) single and Mac was single, and they were both smart professionals with a very unusual job in common. She didn't understand why the past needed to stay in the past. If she found the right words, maybe, this time, they could be different.

"You know, I was just thinking." Mac looked up at her and waited for her to finish. "I was thinking how it's strange that it took a serial killer to rekindle our friendship."

She arched her eyebrows and smiled. She waited for Mac to chuckle a little. But he didn't. Instead, his eyes flashed something like … was that anger?

"You know what I was thinking?" he asked. Quinn braced herself. She could hear the edge in his voice. "I was thinking that when you walked in the front door to accredit my Lab, I should be able to expect that I'll have the same employees when you leave."

The breath left her body. So that was it. Quinn clenched her jaw. Personal feelings aside, she took her job seriously. If Mac was challenging her professionally, she would rise to the occasion. She had made another mistake. Yet, this time her misstep was only in underestimating the strength of that friendship. She was well within her rights to ask. Mac just didn't like it.

"Well, she said no," Quinn countered matter-of-factly, lifting her chin. "You have the same employees." Mac frowned, his eyes a steely gray. Quinn offered an olive branch. "She seems like a good CSI."

"The best." His voice was cold.

"You're close?" she asked coyly.

"We're friends." His voice was even and controlled.

"I offered her a job, Mac. It's a commercial transaction. It's nothing personal." He shook his head. "So, given that you seem to know everything, tell me. Why did she say no? I offered more money, and a better title. She'd be the Deputy Chief Investigator and –"

Mac shook his head. "I guess she likes it here."

Okay, he could be cagey too. If he knew about the job offer, Quinn guessed he had been privy to every detail of her thought process, the pros and cons, the what-ifs. "Did you offer her a better deal?"

"What is this, Quinn?" She smiled slyly. Mac didn't laugh. "You always try to get under my skin and prove that you –"

"That I'm just as good as you?" Quinn's voice was raised. "I don't know why I compete with you, Mac." He shook his head, his eyes flashing. He was still angry. "Years ago, I thought you and I were going to work together forever."

"Things change," he said sharply.

"Why did our friendship change?" she pushed.

"Because you," Mac said, pointing at her as he stood up. "Because you are never, ever satisfied with what you have." Quinn wrinkled her nose. Mac reached in his pocket and set a twenty on the counter. He was buying her a drink. His voice was icy cold. "Leave Stella alone, Quinn."


	5. Gillian

**A/N**: Post Season-5.

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**Eight Dates with Mac**

_**Gillian**_

She had never dated a subordinate before. In fact, she was understandably spooked by the idea. Her husband had been a peer, a colleague at the same pay grade. Six years into the marriage, she had leapfrogged over him within the NYPD. Within a year, he had filed for divorce. And he hadn't even been in the same chain of command.

Mac, though, was. He reported to her, and she was the buffer between him and a Deputy Chief of Detectives he couldn't stand. She relished this role, the way she was the _approachable _boss and the way she could assert herself with the _difficult _boss. If she kept it up, she would go places. She was certain of it.

She was smart and career-driven. Therefore, she didn't plan on dating Mac. She met him at a café, just to clear the air, but by the end of the three hour coffee date, she realized she would see him again. Of course, dating a subordinate had a way of leaving a black stain on any personnel record. Without talking about it, Mac understood that they would need to remain quiet.

The occasional lunch was easily disguised as a business meeting, but Gillian made certain not to meet him more than twice a month. Mac didn't seem to mind taking the subway to out-of-the-way restaurants in remote neighborhoods. And, he claimed he liked meeting her at her townhouse to split a bottle of wine. But tonight, Gillian wasn't certain what was happening. They had plans to meet on the ferry to Staten Island because Mac knew a guy with some kind of Spanish restaurant. Yet, the text she received indicated dinner might be on hold. Instead, it held an invitation to a place she had never been.

The last six steps were in near darkness, Gillian noticed, only illuminated by the red EXIT sign at the very top. The steel door was a solid barrier between the roof and the Crime Lab, and she knew that if Mac had a thing to do with it, the door would remain locked at all times. But in his awkward way with bizarre punctuation, he had texted the location: _Meet me on roof. Of lab. 1930, ok? C U. _As she dodged into the stairway at precisely _1926_, she was grateful to have evaded most of the lab techs and all of the CSI's.

The heavy door scraped against the roof when she opened it. Mac was looking out into the night, illuminated by a harsh fluorescent emergency light. He turned towards her and waved, obviously expecting her presence. Gillian shielded her face from the light and attempted to admire the view. She commented quietly, "This is an unusual place to be summoned by the Chief Investigator of the Crime Lab." Mac laughed quietly through his nose. He swayed on the balls of his feet. "Did you visit Detective Messer?" she pressed, a business-like tone in her voice.

"Both Detective Messers," Mac confirmed with a nod. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and said, "Danny's doing alright. The facility is nice. He's focused on getting home for Lindsay." She nodded. "And Lucy," Mac added, smiling a bit.

"Good motivation, I imagine," Gillian confirmed.

Mac didn't answer for a moment. At last, he sighed before continuing, "He wants to come back, but it's a long road before that happens. He can't sit in his wheelchair very long without exhaustion overwhelming him."

"That'll change," she encouraged.

Mac hesitated. "I hope so." He paused and said, "I visited Lindsay too."

"How's she?"

"A mess," Mac said bluntly. Gillian furrowed her eyebrows in concern, and Mac shook his head, a small smile on his lips. He was teasing a bit. "She'll be fine," he retreated. "She's just always … organized and today? She was still in her pajamas when I stopped over."

"She's a new mother with a husband recovering from a gunshot wound," Gillian defended. "And I assume you called first?" she scolded. Mac looked sheepish. Gillian exhaled and shook her head.

He pulled her close to him and snaked an arm around her waist. He held her close and she smiled. "I'm going off-the-clock now," he said, pressing a kiss against her temple.

"Good," she said. "I like you better that way." Mac scowled at her in mock disdain. "How _was _Lucy?" Gillian asked with a knowing smile.

"She is … amazing," Mac said, his voice dreamlike. "She's … yay big," Mac said, holding his hands out to show her. "And she knows me," Mac asserted. Gillian laughed at him. "Don't laugh. She was crying when I got there, and I picked her up, soothed her and rocked her. She stopped crying right away." Gillian rolled her eyes but smiled tenderly. "She's beautiful, Jill," he said.

"You're smitten."

"I am," he agreed.

She squeezed his hand. "It's sweet." He looked embarrassed so she changed the subject. "Why are we up here?" she asked softly.

"Well," Mac said with a swallow. "I wanted to take you to dinner," he said bashfully. "But I have to cancel. I just can't get out early enough." She nodded in understanding. "However," he added quickly. He walked away for a moment and turned off the emergency light so Gillian could see the night sky better. "I happen to know that the top of this building has some of the best views of Manhattan at night." He returned to Gillian and rested his hand on her lower back. "If you think about it, it's New York's version of the stars."

"Really," she said, pleased.

"Really," Mac said definitively.

She leaned close and whispered, "So this is kind of like a date."

"It could qualify as such, yes," Mac smiled, about to kiss her lips. Suddenly, the pair heard the sound of the door opening behind them. Gillian stepped away instinctively and Mac turned backwards to identify the source of the sound. "Stella," he said with a nod.

"Hey, Mac. It's dark out here," she commented. She flipped on the light switch and began speaking, "We got those results from the –" She stopped in her tracks. "Oh," she said in surprise. "Inspector," she greeted.

"Detective Bonasera," Gillian said, pushing her hair back. "I was just discussing staffing issues. I want to thank you for your willingness to step it up while the Messer's are off. Mac tells me you're putting in a lot of extra hours. I want you to know that it's appreciated."

"Sure," Stella replied, pleased at the compliment. She smiled and then tilted her head. Her eyes flitted from her boss to her boss's boss. Mac was unreadable, his hands in his pockets and his eyes looking towards his feet. "Mac?" He looked up at Stella, a blank expression on his face. "When you have a moment, I'd like to get your eyes on the report from trace. I'm trying to figure out the source of – "

"Of the powder you pulled off the victim's socks," Mac completed for her. "We're finishing up," he said, gesturing towards his boss. "Five minutes, okay?" Stella turned away and Gillian stole a glance at Mac. She smiled nervously at him, and Mac winked.

* * *

A/N: Gillian (Julia Ormond) plays Mac's boss, first appearing in the 100th episode in Season 5.


	6. Lindsay

**A/N:** Set Between Seasons 6 and 7

* * *

**Eight Dates with Mac**

_**Lindsay**_

Lindsay watched Mac pick pour a healthy serving of ranch dressing on his salad and mix it up. He managed to spear both a lettuce leaf and a slice of chicken and swallow them both in the same bite. The salad was a healthy choice for the man known for his penchant for burgers and onion rings. They were at a diner, though, and Lindsay had learned long ago that diners do fried food good, and healthy foods bad. She would never order a salad at a diner. She saw Mac look at her grilled cheese and fries with longing. She guessed he did too many meals on the run to follow her restaurant rules.

He had called her early this morning at home and asked her to lunch. It was an unusual and rare invitation, particularly _sans _Danny. Lindsay knew it was significant so she called the mother of one of Lucy's friends and finally agreed to that babysitter-exchange idea that she had. Danny wouldn't be happy that it meant they would be watching another toddler girl on Saturday night, but it was the price one had to pay to find a babysitter on only four hours notice.

Lindsay knew Mac had an agenda, and it made her uncomfortable. She guessed it had something to do with the shooting that had taken place recently in her home, although she rather hoped it didn't. That would mean this was a business lunch, and Mac was an intimidating boss. She much preferred the more relaxed Mac who would join her, Danny and Lucy at the occasional night out for pizza or afternoon at the zoo. As expected, he took his godfather duties seriously.

Lindsay took a bite of her grilled cheese and watched Mac dubiously. He lifted his eyes and met her gaze, and she quickly looked away. He took a swallow of water and smiled, trying to disarm her. Lindsay smiled back, but her guard was up. He asked, "And how's my goddaughter?"

It was Interrogation 101, and Lindsay knew it. Mac was trying to relax her, build up her trust, and get her to focus on something other than the reason for the meeting. He was a skilled investigator, so it was working. Plus, he had picked her favorite topic. Lindsay relaxed and smiled. "Good. She's doing great. She's learning her colors already." Mac arched his eyebrows, amused by Lindsay's insistence that her daughter was meeting an impossible milestone. "She loves books, but you already know that." Lindsay opened her purse and handed Mac a plain white envelope. "Sorry I forgot these last time. Her daycare took spring photographs. I thought you'd like these." Mac smiled broadly and nodded. He opened the envelope right away and admired the shots. He held one up as if to say, _This is my favorite._ Lindsay nodded. She liked it too.

After a few moments, he returned the pictures to the envelope and he tucked it into his jacket pocket. His expression turned serious, and Lindsay expected the next question. "How are _you _doing?" he asked quietly.

Lindsay looked away. She had asked to come back to work last week, and Mac had said no. _You need more time. You have vacation. Take some more._ She didn't want to admit that he was right, but _if_ she had needed the time then (and it was a big IF), she still needed the time now. Nightmares, panic attacks, unexplained anger. While she would never, ever in a million years admit she had them, those symptoms still plagued her. Mac, with his superpower ability to read her, seemed to just know. It annoyed her and unnerved her.

But she wanted to return to work, and sitting at home all day with only a toddler to talk to, was not helping her process anything. Danny had said quietly that Mac could be right; maybe therapy would help. He had backpedaled quickly when he saw her expression. _Fine, fine_, he said. _Go back to work then_. She needed the job to distract her, she said. And now was the time to convince Mac of that. "I'm ready," Lindsay said confidently, making eye contact. She would not break the stare first. Mac's eyes bored into her.

After a moment, he looked away and nodded. "Good. I need you back." Lindsay smiled. _It couldn't be that easy, could it?_ "I need you to take care of yourself though," he half-scolded. "I can't afford you taking more time off this summer. Not until I have more staff at least." Lindsay tilted her head. _What?_

Mac exhaled and then pressed his fingertips against his forehead. He ran a hand through his hair and then announced, "Stella quit."

"What?" Lindsay asked, positively stunned.

Mac went back to his salad. He didn't say anything, and instead he worked on spearing the chicken and lettuce on his fork. This time it wasn't so easy, and Lindsay watched him take four times before he succeeded. He lifted his fork to his mouth and briefly met Lindsay's eyes. His gaze flitted to the back of the restaurant as he chewed, and Lindsay recognized her own interrogation opportunity. He was nervous, and any cop knew that was the time to pounce. "Mac." He finally looked at her. She leaned forward. "What happened?"

"She quit," Mac repeated quietly.

"Why?" Lindsay pressed.

Mac sighed. He looked elsewhere. Finally, he shrugged. "I don't know, really." Lindsay arched her eyebrows. She didn't believe him for a second. "She took another job. She told me yesterday. She's taking vacation the rest of the week. She starts her new job Monday. So she's done at the Lab."

"Monday? Are you _kidding _me?"

"I wish I was," he said seriously.

"Why?" she asked. Mac shook his head. "Why?" Lindsay repeated quietly, this time reaching for his hand.

Mac blinked suddenly at her tender gesture, but he didn't pull away. Lindsay realized how shook her boss and her friend was. "It's complicated," he finally admitted. "She's my best friend," he said softly.

"I know," Lindsay said sympathetically. "What happened?"

"Um," he started, about to confide in her. Then, suddenly, he took his hand back and his voice was expressionless. "She said I'm blocking her promotion opportunities."

He was lying to her. "She wants to lead the lab?" she asked in disdain. Stella was ambitious, but also satisfied. Whatever she did, she did to the best of her ability. She didn't need a promotion, and Lindsay knew it.

"That's what she's going to do in New Orleans," Mac insisted.

"In _New Orleans_?" Lindsay's jaw dropped. Mac nodded. "Louisiana?" Her voice was rising. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Are you serious, Mac?" He nodded again. Lindsay frowned and crossed her arms. "It sounds like she's running away," Lindsay said, an edge in her voice.

Mac chewed his lip. "Maybe." His voice was quiet and thoughtful, letting Lindsay knew he had already considered that.

A thought entered her mind and she lift her head suddenly. She furrowed her brow. _Maybe… No… Yes. Yes. Oh my god._ Her eyes bored into his. "What is she running from, Mac?" she pressed. He shook his head. "Mac?" she pushed. "What's going on between the two of you?"

He smiled at Lindsay and stood up. He picked up the check. "I gotta run, Lindsay. I have to …" He flitted his hand through the air and said, "I have to get some things straightened out. I have resumes to look at. I have a job description to write. And … It's a slow day for everyone else," he said. "Take the rest of the day with Lucy, but I need you back tomorrow." He paused. "Full-time."

"Full-time," Lindsay repeated, her voice distracted. Stella was leaving. Mac was letting her go. What was happening? Lindsay watched Mac as he paid the bill at the counter. He took out his wallet and paid with a credit card. The waitress thanked him and he nodded. He didn't smile. He ran a hand over his chin. He exhaled and his shoulders sagged. Lindsay watched him walk out of the diner, a sad expression on his face.


	7. Jo

**A/N:** Post Season 7, following _Exit Strategy_ when Mac leaves the lab...

* * *

**Eight Dates with Mac**

_**Jo **_

The sun had been up for only an hour, and already the park was teeming with people. The women wore headbands that coordinated with their neon sneakers, and Jo was suddenly self-conscious about her outfit. Simple black yoga pants and an old FBI t-shirt seemed appropriate at the time. But these were hard-core athletes wearing too much spandex, and … Jo gasped. It occurred to her that Mac might wear spandex, and _that _was a disturbing thought.

She heard his voice before she saw him. "Jo!" he shouted. She looked once, and didn't see him. "Jo! Over here!" She saw his hand waving her across the path.

_Oh thank God. _Mac had the good sense to leave the spandex hidden in the bottom of a drawer he never opened. Jo pushed through the crowd and leaned her cheek up to accept a brief kiss from her boss. "I can't believe you talked me into this," she pouted.

"It's 3.1 miles, Jo. It's not that far," he said quietly, crouching down to check the knot on his shoes. She noticed he had _official _running shoes, unlike her cross-trainers that were at least six years old.

"It's a race, Mac," she argued.

"It's a fun run," he countered. "Smile," he said, nudging her arm. His eyes sparkled, and he grinned. "Have fun with it." She narrowed her eyes but followed her friend to the starting line. Mac hopped on his feet and shook out his arms. He was positively glowing with anticipation. Jo rolled her eyes and reluctantly released a smile. She would go with it. At least it was a lovely day.

The faster runners passed them by but Jo was pleased to realize that Mac had taken the mantra of _FUN RUN _seriously. He wasn't timing himself with a GPS watch or talking of negative splits. Instead, he was settling into a pace that was comfortable for both of them so they could talk. "Is this what people do on a leave of absence?" Jo asked.

"Run?" Mac answered. She nodded, slightly out of breath. "I guess," he said. "It's what I do anyway." She thought he might be picking up the pace a little and she slowed. If he wanted to talk to her, he'd have to slow down too. He did. "I exercise in the mornings, read the paper while I eat breakfast, have more than one cup of coffee while I'm actually sitting down."

"It sounds wonderful," Jo said.

"It is," Mac smiled. The crowd thinned out as they jogged side-by-side. Their pace was slow. If they were lucky, they would finish in the top half of their age group. Jo noticed Mac's head turn as they passed a group of children waving signs to cheer on the athletes. A hint of a smile crossed his face and Jo realized how good this break had been for her boss. She missed him, though. He was a steady hand in the uncertainty of their jobs. She liked knowing she could count on his good judgment, his unwavering support, his sharp intellect. Everything about her job was better when he did it beside her.

"When are you coming back?" Jo asked. "We need you."

Mac wrinkled his nose. "I'm not coming back."

Jo frowned. "Just …" She took a deep breath and braced herself for an upcoming hill. She swore she would keep the pace. She pushed herself forward, looking towards her feet. It was better not to know how much was left. "Just stop, Mac."

"You need a break?" he asked, half-turning to her.

"No," she laughed. "I mean, stop saying you're not coming back. You'll be back."

Mac chuckled a little and shook his head. Jo noticed he was breathing heavier. The hill affected him too. "I just got back from a trip," he announced. "New Orleans." Jo nodded, frankly not surprised that he had chosen to visit his old friend during a sabbatical. She didn't push, knowing Mac would only disclose if he wasn't pressed. "Stella's good," Mac continued.

Jo smiled. She had never met the woman she had replaced. The party line was that New Orleans gave her a better opportunity. The CSI's were a loyal bunch, and not one of them deviated from that story. The lab techs, on the other hand, were good at churning out rumors about which they knew nothing. One said she had been fired. Another said Mac had been ordered to fire her. A third said she quit after an argument in his office. Someone else thought it might have been in his apartment. A junior tech speculated she was pregnant. With triplets, another added. And then they whispered that no one knew who the father was, but it could have been ….

Jo dismissed all of the rumors. Mac wasn't a dramatic guy and she had a hard time believing a public falling out or a secret relationship was to blame. More than likely, Stella wanted a promotion. And this opportunity came along. It happened all the time. "It was good to see an old friend," Mac said. "We did some sightseeing. She's looking for a house so I helped with that." Jo tilted her head. That surprised her. Mac said quietly, "Mostly we talked." Then, he added softly, "We cleared the air."

Something in his voice caught her attention. Jo stopped at the top of the hill, her hands on her hips. She was catching her breath, but she could have kept going. Instead, she wanted to give him her full attention. Mac stopped too and and looked at the ground. Jo reached out and touched his arm. He looked into her eyes. "Why did she leave?" she pressed quietly.

Mac hesitated. At last, he replied, "It's complicated." Jo waited. "I … I care about her."

"Does she know?" Jo asked quietly.

Mac looked at his hands and then looked at Jo. He nodded. Then he smiled. "We sorted it out. We're good now." His eyes sparkled, and Jo recognized true joy in them. He was relaxed and confident, and entirely at peace. "We're good," he repeated. "And I'm not coming back." Jo laughed a little and nodded.

She believed him.


	8. Arianna

**A/N:** So this is it - Last date with Mac. For those of you following the _Whispering_ story, the good news is I _finally_ have an idea… Finally … Thanks, as always, for your support!

* * *

**Eight Dates with Mac**

_**Arianna**_

Arianna kicked her legs in front of her and whispered to herself, _Out_. Then, she bent her knees and whispered, _In_. If she timed it right, it would propel her forward, higher and higher. _Out. In. Out. In._ The words took on a rhythmic pattern. The breeze flew through Arianna's curls. When her legs were out and she moved forward, her hair flew back, exposing her bright green eyes. When her legs were in and she moved backwards, her hair flew in her face, temporarily masking her vision. She needed a ponytail holder. Daddy said if she wouldn't let him comb it, she had to pull it back. When her hair flew back, she saw him. "Daddy!" she yelled. "Lookit! Lookit me! Push me higher!"

"You're doing great on your own," he said, reaching for the clipboard from Mrs. George. He scribbled something and said something to her teacher. They laughed, and Arianna smiled. Mrs. George was pretty when she smiled, but she didn't do that very much today. Evan Whitehouse had been super naughty.

"Push me!" she yelled again. Daddy narrowly missed Evan who ran in front of him holding a red fire truck. Evan tripped anyway, and Arianna laughed. She didn't like him. Her daddy stopped and reached for Evan's arm, pulling him to his feet. He crouched down and brushed the sand off Evan's knees. Arianna narrowed her eyes. Evan was taking her daddy's time. "Daddy!" she screeched. "Push me now!" she ordered. He ignored her for a brief moment longer, making conversation about the fire truck. "Look at me!" Arianna shouted. "I'm pumping!"

Her daddy stood up and met his daughter, somehow grasping her tiny body from the swing just as she was reaching the high point. She was about to cry because he didn't see the _Whole Thing _when he tickled her. She was distracted by her giggles, and her daddy gave her a kiss on the cheek as he pulled her close. "How was your day, baby girl?" he asked.

"I'm not a baby," she insisted. Tears were threatening again. She didn't like it when he called her a baby because she was a big girl. She was even going to kindergarten (When? Yes, in the _Fall_) and babies did _not _go to kindergarten. Mommy told her that.

"No, you're not a baby," he agreed quickly, setting her on her own feet. "I'm glad you reminded me because sometimes I forget. Tell me, how old are you again?"

She smiled at the way he was so darn forgetful. "Da-_ddee_," she said with a shake of her head. "I'm four! Four years old!"

Arianna grabbed his hand and half-skipped, half-jumped, half-walked, half-ran and finally pulled her dad to the car. He buckled her in tightly into her booster seat, and handed her the iPad so she could play ABC Mouse during the drive. She tapped the iPad impatiently, frowning at the hourglass that indicated she had to wait. She tapped again. And again. And again. The tears flooded her eyes. "Daddy!"

"Hold on," he said impatiently, fiddling with his phone. "You have to give me a second," he muttered. She opened her mouth to scream again when he held his hand up. He had the _No Nonsense _look on his face, and Arianna knew if she yelled, he might just say NO WI-FI and that would be worse than waiting. Way worse. "Wait," he ordered, his voice sharp. He stared intently at the phone. "Okay," he said, pocketing the device. His voice sounded relaxed, and he smiled again. Daddy wasn't mad. "Wi-Fi is on." With an excited kick of her feet, Arianna went to work.

She only got through three games before they were at the police station. She liked it here because everyone knew her and paid attention to her. Plus, she always received gifts. Sometimes they handed her shiny quarters or paper clips that she could hook together to make long, long necklaces. Last time, Daddy gave her a Styrofoam cup filled with orange soda and a small bag of gummy worms. Mommy said no to soda, especially soda that had _caffeine _in it, but Daddy made exceptions for orange. That's why she liked coming here with him. He made lots of exceptions to keep her happy.

She liked sitting at the high table in the Break Room. She played with the iPad or her paper clips, sipped at her soda and waited for Mommy and Daddy to finish talking. They didn't like it if she interrupted, but she couldn't help it that it was so, so boring to wait. That's why Daddy let her play the iPad, he told Mommy.

"Night shift," Daddy commented quietly. He tapped on Mommy's hand.

"Yeah," Mommy said. "The day goes on forever." Mommy reached out and touched Arianna's hair. She snaked her fingers into Arianna's disheveled mop of curls and ordered Daddy, "You need to comb through it tonight. Wash it first and use that good conditioner." He nodded but didn't say anything. Arianna frowned. That was supposed to be Mommy's job. Daddy tried, but he always ran out of patience and then it hurt.

Without looking up from the iPad, she announced, "Only Mommy combs my hair." Then she looked at her parents. Her mother was about to say something else when a stranger wearing a navy blue uniform entered the Break Room. Arianna turned backwards in her seat to get a better look. The chair moved and she felt her daddy's hands quickly steady it. "N. O. P.," Arianna announced, looking at the young man.

Daddy pressed, "And what's the last letter?" He pointed at the man's badge that glimmered gold on his chest. "There's one more letter," he said.

"D!" Arianna said triumphantly. Her daddy's proud smile spurred her forward. "NOPD," she said. "NOPD," she said faster. "LMNOP and D!" she realized with a grin. The three adults laughed, but Arianna didn't understand why. She heard the stranger say, _Smart Cookie. Just like your mom._ She didn't know what it meant, but it was a compliment, and suddenly Arianna was shy. She turned towards Daddy's arm and hid her face.

"Detective Taylor?" the man greeted the family of three. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but can I have a moment? I might have a break in the case."

Mac stood up and scooped his daughter off the chair. "This would be our time to leave, baby girl."

"Dad-_deee."_ _How could he forget already?_

"I mean, my big girl," Mac corrected quickly, his eyes sparkling. "Come on, Anna Banana. It's time to let Mommy work." He leaned over the table and kissed Stella's lips. "See you in the morning, boss," he whispered. "Stay safe."

* * *

A/N: Post Series… with a slightly different twist to the universe. Thanks for all your reviews! I've enjoyed reading your thoughts!


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